How I Killed America
by insanelaughtler
Summary: Told from Canada's POV. Oneshot. Canada and the world have had enough with America. They plan on finishing him once and for all. They succeed. Unfortunately for them America doesn't die. A little bit gruesome, but not too much. Re-Uploaded


**A/N This was a spur of the moment thing. I literally sat down and this was made three hours later. I was listening to this song and I guess it kind of influence me. Oh, and another fanfic inspired me. It's called 'We All Fall Down' and it's really good. You should check it out. You don't need to read it to get this, but it is an interesting read none the less.**

**Edit: I realized that I'm missing disclaimers. I do not own Hetalia or the song You're Gonna Go Far Kid. Also, I changed the text a teensy bit. Not very noticeable. And can anyone think of a song to go along with the sequel in America's perspective? It's going to be called 'Why I Killed Canada.'  
**

* * *

You're Gonna Go Far Kid Songfic (Canada and America)

_Show me how to lie, you're getting better all the time _  
_And turning all against the one is an art that's hard to teach _

Canada could still remember that day. No, that entire time. The Great War against America. They called it World War III, but that was just a fancy name. It was the world specifically against the United States of America. Against the stupid, idiotic, carefree, arrogant, fat, insensitive, gluttonous, _absolutely hate-able _brother of his. Alfred.

And the leader of that war. The cherished, unexpected, and strong leader. The one who rose against all expectations. The great superpower. Now _the _superpower.

Canada.

Matthew.

_His _brother.

Overshadowed, forgotten, uncared for.

All things of the past.

He was remembered now. His brother was now only a fading annoyance of the past. He was World Superpower. And he wasn't going to mess this up like _America _did.

_Another clever word sets off an unsuspecting herd _  
_And as you step back in the line a mob jumps to their feet_

It was such an easy task to get the world against his brother. All he had to do was wait. And passive-aggression was his forte.

It took longer than he expected for his brother to completely mess up. He had waited through oil spills, horrible leading, unnecessary wars, nearly everything. Canada had wondered if he should have used one of those but patience prevailed.

America's economy had plunged. His people had hated him. Job lost by the thousands. Hundreds of huge businesses closed. The American Dream had been shredded, spit upon, and burned into nothingness.

All the countries had turned their backs to him. Cut off all trade, exports, and imports. Nobody helped him.

Canada smiled at the thought of it. But that wasn't the best part. Not by far.

The best part was the nuclear missiles.

It was a brilliant stroke of luck. Somebody, terrorists or anti-Americans maybe, had snuck into the top-secret areas during that time of chaos. Three missiles fired.

One hit the Mediterranean Sea.

The next hit the middle of China.

The last had hit Russia.

It was so easy then. So many had died. So many others had screamed for blood. That that was the last straw. That the great _United States of America _was to be torn down.

Lovely.

_Now dance, mister, dance, man, he never had a chance _  
_And no one even knew, it was really only you_

It was so easy, so _so _easy. Too easy. To be fun.

Whether people expected him to defend his brother is an unknown fact to him. Not that it mattered. The _world _had screamed for blood. To destroy the hated America, the stupid Americans, do what should have been done long ago. As for the nations, the personifications, they wanted to tear him down. They wanted to see him dead, destroyed, mauled, maimed, all those nice things that gave Canada a warm feeling.

They had wanted to see the golden boy to fall for a long time. All those bitter old empires, Spain, England, France, they wanted to see him fall the way they did. All those who held a silent grudge, Japan, China, Germany, wanted to show him pain the way he had shown them before. And all his enemies, old and new, Russia, Cuba, _everyone_, had wanted to take him down from his delusional clouds. They wanted to force him to see their reality. They wanted to destroy his stupid dream and show him the real world.

Canada led the hatred. He closed his borders the day of the fires. He rallied the nations together. He told them all of America's downsides. Highlighted his failures. Told them to kill.

At first they didn't trust him. He was America's brother, wouldn't he defend him?

All it took was cold smiles, knowing looks, offhand comments. They remembered how family held nothing to them in wars. Or anything.

England against France.

Japan against China.

So many, so much.

Grudges.

Pain.

Betrayal.

It was normal for nations.

To smile to their faces.

And stab their backs.

_And now you steal away _  
_Take him out today _

The war was fast and easy. So, so easy. Almost no fun.

But it was fun at the end.

When they killed America.

That was fun. So fun.

America's people were already killing their fellow citizens. It was the Civil War all over again.

But worse.

So, so much worse.

And so much more fun.

This time there were no sides, no purpose. The former leaders had been hunted down and killed. Gruesomely. Fear ran wild. The humans couldn't trust each other. It was friend on friend. Family against family. And any stranger was shot down instantly.

When the armies of the world attacked they met no resistance other than the plowing through fields of dead bodies with scared, blank eyes and hands red with blood of their kin.

Canada had enjoyed it.

After all, he had hated his brother so much.

So, so much.

_Nice work you did _  
_You're gonna go far, kid_

It came the day that they, Canada and the world, had found his brother. Curled up on his side, glasses broken, hair matted, and bloodied. Broken.

Canada frowned.

That was no fun. He wanted a good, painfully drawn out fight.

The countries stood over America, his long enemies, his once allies, his former friends, his own _brother_, looked at him with everything dark that they ever felt for him.

Hate.

Pain.

Disgust.

Hate.

Contempt.

Amusement.

Hate.

Grudge.

Anger.

HATE!

Canada hated America. Matthew hated Alfred.

IhateyouIhateyouIhateyouhate youhateyouhatehatehate-

I HATE YOU, AMERICA!

I hate your country.

I hate your people.

I hate your failures.

I hate your mess ups.

I hate how everything is blamed on me.

I HATE YOU, ALFRED!

_With a thousand lies and a good disguise _  
_Hit 'em right between the eyes, hit 'em right between the eyes _

The countries hurt America. They did everything to him that was done to them. By him. By each other. By themselves. Thousands of years of anger, pain, betrayal, _hatred _was taken out on this pathetic excuse for a nation.

Tear him.

Tear him apart.

Into a million pieces.

Burn him.

I said burn him!

Burn him?

Burn it.

Make him pay.

He's struggling.

Struggling?

Pathetic.

Get me a rope.

Get him a noose.

Destroy.

Destroy him

Destroy it.

Destroy America.

No.

What?

Not enough.

Why not?

Destroy Alfred.

Perfect.

Hate.

I hate you.

I HATE YOU!

_When you walk away, nothing more to say _  
_See the lightning in your eyes, see 'em running for their lives_

Kill him.

Kill him.

KILL HIM!

No.

What?

I will.

They were about to kill him. But Canada, no, _Matthew _couldn't have that.

He wanted to kill America.

It felt like the War of 1812 all over again. His rage being invaded. Being burned by his brother. Being burned at his heart.

He had marched down to his brother's capital. His brother's heart. And set it on fire. Set everything ablaze. And laughed, _laughed _at his brother's face. His stupid, annoying, how-dare-he-be-hurt face.

No, it didn't feel like the War of 1812 again. It _was _going to be the war of 1812 today.

Canada had taken everything important to his brother. Portraits of his presidents. His beloved paintings of his founding fathers. His most important documents. His Declaration of Independence. His Constitution. He brought it with him.

And burned them in front of his brother's eyes.

America had howled and screamed, fighting against the grip of the laughing nations. He cried and pleaded.

He begged and wailed, reduced to nothing. Stripped of everything. Leaving something less than an animal in his place.

Pathetic.

But hilarious.

The other nations, who had risen and fell in the endless cycle, laughed and jeered at the once great nation.

Canada spit in the ashes and smeared it across America's face. Alfred's tear-stained, _hated _face.

_Slowly outta line and drifting closer in your sights _  
_So play it out I'm wide awake, it's a scene about me _

Look at him.

Such a baby.

This happens to us all.

Right?

We all suffered.

Right?

Yes.

No.

Maybe?

Of course.

We were all torn down.

He deserves to as well.

Right?

Of course.

By all of us?

Of course.

Of course.

Of course.

Because life isn't fair.

Right?

Right.

Of course.

_There's something in your way and now someone is gonna pay _  
_And if you can't get what you want, well, it's all because of me_

He didn't bring a gun. That would be too quick. He brought a sword.

Because it would hurt more.

So, so much more.

Don't let him go.

Hold him still.

He can barely move anyway.

Come on.

Yes.

Yes! Yes! Yes!

Canada ignored the pleading eyes his brother gave him. They won't work on him. They'll never work on anyone else again.

Why?

Because I hate you.

He smiled at his brother one last time.

And plunged in the blade.

He waited for the oh so pleasurable scream.

But it didn't happen.

_Now dance, mister, dance, man, I never had a chance _  
_And no one even knew, it was really only you_

They all looked at the young nation.

He smiled at them.

With his torn, shredded clothes. With his beloved Bomber jacket burned away. With the deep gashes in his face streaming blood down to his mouth and blinding his eyes. With the terrible wounds that crisscrossed his body like a wood carver's scrap piece. With the burned skin that crossed his limbs. With the red stained blade going through his chest, piercing his heart, and coming out his back.

He smiled at them.

His expression dreamy. His eyes still sparkling. His broken and missing teeth still flashing a Hollywood smile.

Canada screamed and tore out the blade. Plunging it back into him again and again. Trying to erase that smile. that he hated.

So, so much.

_And now you'll lead the way _  
_Show the light of day _

He finally stopped near dawn. His brother had been long dead. They tore his body to pieces and spread them.

After all, nations never die until their country does. And even then... Well, Prussia was still here, wasn't he?

This will keep him dead until his nation was officially dissolved.

And then he'll never come back.

And Matthew would never have to see that stupid grin again.

_Nice work you did _  
_You're gonna go far, kid _

Maybe it was biological warfare. Maybe not. But something happened to the newly dissolved United States of America.

All across the mainland a disease stuck. Humans who had the disease had a year to live at the most when they got it. A month of all consuming pain at the least.

It spread through human touch and ate away at those who received it.

Canada claimed the lands not affected by it and Alaska and swiftly closed his borders.

Not letting anyone out.

Letting everyone inside those borders die.

_Trust, deceived_

His brother was gone. He had new, good land. He was seen and everyone knew and respected him.

His brother had prevented him from this before.

He was the world superpower now. Better and stronger then America ever was or could have been.

He wasn't a villain, like his brother unknowingly was.

But he was no hero either.

_With a thousand lies and a good disguise _  
_Hit 'em right between the eyes, hit 'em right between the eyes _

He had no ambition or want to take over the world like so many countries before him. But he wanted to stay up there. As the most powerful.

So he helped all the countries who were affected by the missiles. Helped them, and got them back on their feet. He sent people over to rebuild.

He did everything to help them. With trade, rebuilding, everything.

And made sure that they would never be able to leave him.

They couldn't ignore or forget him as they did for so long. Because they needed him now.

_When you walk away, nothing more to say _  
_See the lightning in your eyes, see 'em running for their lives_

When some figured out how involved he became with them and became disturbed. They tried to withdraw from him. Tried to cut all ties.

And they fell.

Fell hard.

But they came to a muffled stop where he waited for them with a helpful hand and a gun to their temple.

Made sure that nobody else will catch on like they had. And if they wouldn't be silent. Then he silenced them.

Simple.

He didn't want to be feared. He just needed everyone to know that he was the strong one now. To remember that. As they had forgotten for so many years.

_Now dance, fucker, dance, he never had a chance _  
_And no one even knew, it was really only you _

Surprisingly enough, the world loved him. He was Canada. Matthew Williams. The savior of the tyranny that was the United States of America. That was Alfred F. Jones.

He was better then America could have ever been. Greater, so, so much greater.

Everyone forgot that the reason he was this great was because he had killed his brother.

Killed.

Destroyed.

Murdered.

Or did they remember?

Maybe they did remember.

But they didn't care.

_So dance, fucker, dance, I never had a chance _  
_It was really only you_

One day, decades later, certain lands began to riot and revolt.

An island.

The easternmost province of Canada.

The old America.

Bloody massacres of officials and those loyal to the overtaking countries. All things that belonged to the countries they now belonged to were destroyed, burned, gone.

The people had shouted one thing as a chant.

This is Alaska! We are the United States of America!

This is Hawaii! We are the United States of America!

U.S.A.

U.S.A.

U! S! A!

America was back.

_With a thousand lies and a good disguise _  
_Hit 'em right between the eyes, hit 'em right between the eyes _

Nobody knew what to think at the next meeting. It was five minutes before the meeting would start. Would he come? Would he hold a grudge for what they did to him?

Would he?

Of course he would.

He deserved it.

Right?

Right.

Because life isn't fair.

Exactly.

What do you mean?

Canada wanted to tear down the clock over his head. It was insufferable.

Tick, tick, tick.

Each second was punctuated by an infuriating ticking.

Tick, tick, tick.

Tick, tick, tick.

Tick, tick-

Greetings again, nations.

He walks in. He didn't change. Gold hair, bright blue eyes, aura of importance, metal limbs-

What?

He's different.

So, so different.

Sky blue eye. One sky blue eye. The other is bright blue. Computer blue. There's no iris. No white. Just bright computer blue. Like a computer screen. Scanning, analyzing, recording. Watching.

The side of his face with the computer blue eye is silver. Stainless steel silver. Smooth, like metal. With bright silver teeth to match on that side.

The other half of his face is human. Sky blue eye. Pearly white teeth. Lightly tanned skin. No smile.

His suit covers most of his body, only his hands and wrists can be seen. Both hands are stainless steel silver. Smooth and slightly shiny. They mimic a regular hand completely, but more perfectly. Like metal.

He introduces himself as the United States of America. Canada frowns, it is as if he never met them before. But he is Alfred. Just an indifferent, metal version of him.

They introduce themselves back to him as if they never met him before. The whole time his face, even the human side, holds not a trace of emotion. The computer blue eye scans the room with its flat color. He has a human side of his face, but he really is completely a robot.

When he walks to his seat his walk is mechanical, yet fluid. Contrasting himself. Floating blue screens hover around him, showing information in a multitude of languages. He can't seem to hear the whispers that follow him.

Is that America?

I think so.

What happened?

How should I know?

Those screens...

Advanced technology, it seems.

But his nation has been dead for the last couple decades!

At this the metal America turns to the speaker, England. The blue screens that orbit him part and hover at his sides, giving him a clear view of England. The computer blue eye becomes brighter and his eyebrow lifts, changing his expression for once.

Not dead.

He says.

Recovering.

Building.

Preparing.

_When you walk away, nothing more to say _  
_See the lightning in your eyes, see 'em running for their lives_

Canada narrows his perfectly human eyes. This wasn't fair! He had killed him! America wasn't special, he wasn't blessed, he had deserved what happened to him. So why could he come back?

Because life isn't fair.

Right?

Right.

It's unfair that he could come back.

With his old power.

Advanced technology.

People who believe in him.

After being shut out from the rest of the world to die of a disease.

Oh.

America doesn't speak and sits and observes much like Japan. He sits at a distance from the others, or are they sitting at a distance from him? The blue screens surround him, flicking information at a pace too fast for the normal human or personification. He watches the screen and occasionally moves a screen or pauses another one.

When it's time for him to talk he waves at the screens which float away from him and station themselves in front each nation, the information flickering out and videos turning on. He doesn't say anything as they watch the video.

Canada watches the video in front of him. He is shown so many things at incomprehensible speeds. Then the screen slows down and he sees flashes of all his failures and miseries. A feeling of utter despair and pain engulfs him as he watches his worst moments lined up back to back. But he's mesmerized by the video.

Everyone else is as well from the sad wails and cries emanating from the room around him.

Then the video stops and they see a picture of America after they had killed him. In all his bloody glory.

The screens then whisk back to their owner, who still watches them with a robot's face.

Angry yells and screams ensue.

What was that for?

How did you get that?

You can't do this in a world meeting!

How dare you?

The robotic face that might have once been America watches the screaming with blank eyes.

He speaks once.

Prepare yourselves.

_Clever alibis, Lord of the Flies _  
_Hit 'em right between the eyes, hit 'em right between the eyes _

What?

Run.

Run where?

Somewhere!

Danger!

Not there, get away!

Someone, help!

Where now?

It hurts!

Help!

I can't!

What is he doing?

All over again.

Hurts so much.

Save yourself!

Too late.

Why me?

You tell me.

I don't want to die.

Nations don't die.

Sometimes they do.

I won't kill you.

Why?

I don't kill.

You killed them.

I didn't.

Then what did you do?

I...

What?

...Taught them a lesson.

With death.

You'll see for yourself.

What?

No!

Go away!

_When you walk away, nothing more to say _  
_See the lightning in your eyes, see 'em running for their lives_

Canada refused to back down. America had taken over so much, but he won't take over Canada! Not after he had gotten this far.

His vision temporarily blackens as the next onslaught of pain from his beating tries to destroy him. It hurts so bad.

Do you give up Matthew?

Never.

Of course you won't.

Then why ask?

I wanted to see if we really had the same blood.

Meaning?

I didn't die after what you did to me.

And?

So you won't die either.

I see no reason to.

Oh, well.

Through the one eye that he has left Canada glares at America. The robotic face watches him with barely a hint of amusement in the mixed eyes.

Suddenly it breaks into a smile.

A smile that reminds Matthew of Alfred before he killed him and this _robot _took over.

But the robot is smiling as well.

It's twisted and evil and cruel and...

Happy.

You wanted to tear me down.

I did.

You succeeded.

How?

My dream was ruined. I fell.

You deserved to.

Maybe, but I'm back.

It's not fair.

Life isn't fair.

All he can see is the smile. The smile that he hates, hates, HATES!

Then something blue, bright computer blue, strikes down on him, tearing him apart. It destroys him so much like the nations had destroyed Alfred.

Numbers and letters and blue flood his vision.

He knows he'll never see the blue sky again. Or is it the sky blue eyes?

He vaguely wondered if this is what a computer feels like.

Because he is one now.

Like what Alfred had become.

* * *

**I don't know about this. As for the technology, I think that Tony has something to do with it. I'm thinking about writing another kind of companion one-shot in America's POV since it gets really confusing near the end. Oh, and about the weird sentences, I challenged myself not to use quotation marks for the speaking. I let you figure out which ones are thoughts and which ones are speaking sentences.**

**Argh... I hate stories about Canada being mean to America... Probably because America is my favorite character... But I love them being bros, albeit bros who don't always understand each other.  
**

**Please don't hate me... Review?  
**

**insanelauhtler out  
**


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